


Tatters

by drvology



Category: Batman (Unspecified canon), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:56:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drvology/pseuds/drvology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce's night does not go at all as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tatters

**Author's Note:**

> B:TAS is my favorite Batverse incarnation; it's become my default setting when imagining the characters &c. That established, I think the fic I write can be aptly labeled 'canon & time nonspecific.'  
> → Written in an hour for 60_minute_fics challenge group @ LJ || 070706 Prompt #3 _Where did it all go wrong? Include / take inspiration from said phrase._

He couldn't pinpoint an exact event or moment or cause.

He couldn't determine any single flaw in his plan.

He simply had no idea.

Bruce sighed, let his head fall forward into his hands. This- none of this- was what he'd wanted.

He'd known about it for so long, could see it coming, had been able to preempt then man then counterman any perceivable, any potential, threats.

He'd used every resource, every power, his and the Bat's, to ensure this came to fruition without a hitch.

He'd failed, anyway.

Somewhere in this mess was the answer. An answer that wasn't, wouldn't be, because it was all things and none.

Alfred walking into his bedroom, tux in hand, baffling him at the very idea he'd need it tonight, this night; Robin's signal chirping on the emergency line, unexpected and urgent; car engines and the doorbell that chimed again and again.

His favorite tux was now completely unwearable, probably beyond repair. The left silk lapel had been completely torn away. The pants were ripped, both legs, shredded enough so his knees showed through. The seaming was pulled, darts and tailored lines, bewildered bunches of frayed thread and material.

Robin had been pinned down, needed help right now--an unexpected footfall into a pile of warehouse dust followed by a billow followed by a sneeze followed by a sharp jerk backwards into a set of rusty, looming shelves. Followed by contents of those shelves being slammed into the wall, being knocked forward again, then breaking the weakened metal to come crashing down. On top of Robin.

Veronica had called friends, and her friends had called theirs, and together they'd gotten the bright idea to _surprise_ him, this evening.

"Master Bruce?"

He peeked through his fingers at Alfred, nodded.

"I thought perhaps this would help." Alfred smiled, mild and concerned with only a bare hint of his inner amusement brightening the glint in his eye. He carried a tray, pot of tea ready to be poured and a double shot of bourbon ready to be thrown back.

Bruce grunted, started with the obvious, grimaced at the warm-good alcohol burn and wheezed thanks.

"Master Tim is out of the shower and into bed, as ordered, no worse for the wear save for several, ah, unfortunate metal bits and bobs that had to be removed."

Bruce was once again reminded why he was so adament shots against everything had to be endured annually, regardless of more lax general good health recommendations.

Alfred poured a cup of tea, dunked in three sugar cubes, topped it off with cream. Normally Bruce didn't like his sweet, but it was a good follow to the bourbon and he hadn't had anything to eat since--yesterday. At breakfast.

"Thanks, Alfred," he said quietly, stared into the steam that wraithed from the cup cradled to his palm. It was hot and delicate and the tea--sweet and all--smelled delicious.

"Very good then." Alfred nodded, patted him on the shoulder. "Anything else?"

Bruce drank the tea in a swallow. He shook his head, shrugged, wanted to say yes, wanted to be left alone.

"I've got it from here."

Alfred refilled his cup, four lumps this time, then turned to leave.

"Alfred?" Bruce waited, tilted his head at Alfred already across his room, hand on the doorknob, gray eyes levelly met to his. "Thanks for... everything, tonight."

Alfred's glint deepend. "Certainly, Master Bruce. Might I say, it was a pleasure." He smiled, winked, swept out the door with an abbreviated bow.

Bruce was in his tux when he answered Robin's distress call. There was no one else. Ronnie and her friends- not Bruce's, not really- were downstairs, music started up and laughter and glass clink and the tinny ping of silver to dishes. He'd grabbed Alfred's elbow as he'd made his way down the stairs, murmured tight about Robin, put the pieces together as to what was happening here easily enough.

Veronica had commandeered the Manor and Alfred was doing his best to--politely--put the kabosh to the whole damned mess.

He'd barely escaped, dashed to his study and slipped into the Batcave, thought about the extra suit in the Batmobile and had just gone, worry for Robin and the time already wasted making him, perhaps, careless.

No one had been in the warehouse but Robin. No one was even around. Bruce had been able to drive right in, breath loosened in a burst of relief when Robin had grinned, grumbled then complained _Quit staring no lectures get it offa me I can't breathe._

The work had been quick. And filthy. And had caused the ruination of his favorite tux.

Bruce had called Alfred as they'd driven back to the Manor. Alfred had assured him- without his even needing to ask- that Veronica, et al, had politely but effectively been shown the door. A door that was now firmly locked behind them, lights out, get along home now all of you, thanks so much do come again for cocktails some other time.

None of that represented the worst of Bruce's totally wrecked evening.

He finished his tea, picked up the phone, dialed.

It rang and Bruce counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

 _Hi! It's Dick and it's gonna beep and you know what to do. So do it, you know you wanna._

Bruce sighed, heavier, deeper, a desolate sound from down in his gut.

He carefully replaced the receiver, felt pleased he didn't pick up the phone and hurl it across the room.

The one thing he'd left to as close to chance as Bruce got--the one thing he'd wanted from tonight--the final thing that just figured wouldn't work out as planned.

This called for more bourbon.

Bruce pushed off his bed, stopped cold when something out of place caught his periphery.

He turned, slowly, intent gaze raking the corner of his bedroom, across the folds of drapery, over the floor-to-ceiling windowbanks that overlooked the water, another gathering of drapes, then into the far corner. He squinted, honed in.

Bruce smiled.

"Dick," he said, soft and almost disbelieving.

"Let myself in," Dick grinned, slid from the black slants of shadow. "Whew, long night?" Dick's brow perked up, blue eyes teasing, taking Bruce entirely in, eating him up, head to toe.

Bruce kept smiling. "You've no idea," he deadpanned, caught Dick's neck in his hand, pulled Dick close for a kiss, then another, then a third.

They parted and Bruce pressed his forehead to Dick's, rolled it side to side, fit his nose alongside Dick's.

"I was--I was coming to surprise you, tonight," he said, a near-whisper.

Dick laughed, quiet and pleased and not at all worried. He kissed Bruce's cheek, fit himself alongside Bruce.

"I figured. A very suspicious, very strict complete non-mention of tonight for weeks. Tim already on solo Bat-duty for a _not cool but I understand not like I'll miss everything_ should be a quiet night of patrol. You asking me oh-so-casually if I'd be home." Dick snuggled into Bruce's neck. "I should have said no, that I was coming over here. But I wanted to know your surprise. Then after toooo long I figured surprising you was in order."

Bruce flushed. A touch of embarrassment at being so transparent to Dick, a touch of pride that Dick deduced it all so completely. A touch of affection that Dick knew him so well, and definitely a touch of arousal at Dick's heat and scent and proximity.

"Yes. Well." Bruce cleared his throat, felt inordinately foolish standing right here with Dick in his arms and that he'd ever thought he should mix it up, go for something a little different.

"Gonna tell me?" Dick asked, licked Bruce's neck, nibbled behind his ear.

"Hmmm." Bruce stalled.

Dick kept nibbling so Bruce kissed him again.

"Let's just say I wanted a casual just you and me jeans and a nice dinner and-"

"-a whole lot of mind-blowing screwing until we dropped to celebrate your birthday."

Bruce chuckled, couldn't contradict that--Dick wouldn't believe him if he tried--so he nodded, instead.

"Yeah, something a lot like that."

Dick leaned back, looked up at Bruce, dimple flash and eyes stunning-drunk with invitation and love. "Ain't midnight yet. Still have time for at least one of those."

Bruce's small smile cracked wide open, a grin, a leer, a laugh of acceptance and yeah, love, for Dick to see.

He kissed Dick, hard, worked his hand beneath sweater then t-shirt and got them both off at once, then started on Dick's buttonfly. Dick pushed him and they staggered back to the bed, fell on it, Dick on Bruce, hands everywhere.

Dick arched his brow, rid any last doubt that Bruce's tux was beyond repair as he gleefully ripped the rest of it away.

Bruce let Dick, let his hands wander. Let Dick kiss him and whisper happy birthday and so many other things he didn't deserve to hear, had earned hearing. Let himself whisper back, definitely let himself think _where did it all go so right_.


End file.
